


this whole damn city thinks it needs you; but not as much as I do

by OhMaven



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Gift Giving, secret marriage ish, small amount of Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:08:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22079716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OhMaven/pseuds/OhMaven
Summary: Han Solo is maybe just a liiiittle tired of sharing Leia with the New Republic. (Just a little bit.)
Relationships: Leia Organa/Han Solo
Comments: 2
Kudos: 56





	this whole damn city thinks it needs you; but not as much as I do

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Holidays to my Hanleia fic exchange partner, Megandchill. I hope these are the prompts you are looking for. ;)

This was, almost certainly,  _ not _ Han Solo’s scene. While he had been far from the only smuggler to side with the Rebel Alliance during what had now been dubbed the Galactic Civil War, he was the only one (that he knew of anyway) that was dumb enough to fall in love with a  _ politician _ . Spending time in the heart of the new galactic government hadn’t exactly been in Han’s five-year plan. Worse than that, Chandrila was... _ kriff _ but it was so backwards. There was really only one thing that could keep Han in such a place, and she was  _ busy as fuck _ on the rare occasion she wasn’t off-world doing Force knew what. (Leia could do whatever she damn well pleased, and she could take care of herself, but he was never going to stop being offended that she let  _ other _ people fly her around in their  _ subpar _ ships.)   
  
Leia Organa continued to vex, and that was probably half the appeal. Which made him  _ double _ the dumbass.

Miraculously, they appeared to be on-planet at the same time; a miracle that wouldn’t be necessary if she let him tag along, naturally. Leia said that mostly what she did was boring diplomat shit, but Han Solo could smell the afterburn of carbon scoring on clothes from ten feet away, so he wasn’t sure who she was kidding. At any rate, she was at home and so was he, and Han had even gone to the effort of getting her a welcome home present while ignoring the not-so-gentle teasing Chewie had contributed. The box was tucked into the pocket of his vest, and it bumped into his chest now and again as he put more confidence into his walk than he currently felt. (The important thing was to  _ act _ like you belonged, and no one would question it; smugglers 101.) That was it, wasn’t it? He’d felt more-or-less comfortable during the war - skulking around, blowing shit up and sneaking shit in and smuggling people (and supplies) out. It was kind-of like what he usually did, only on the house, for a good cause. But now?   
  
Now, Han Solo didn’t really know where he fit into the shape of Leia Organa’s life.

That was really what they were trying to figure out, wasn’t it? Wedging some-sort of shared life in between the spaces of the obligations and restlessness that tugged them in opposite directions.You know. When there was time for that kind of seriousness. Han had never been particularly  _ good _ at making things serious, or complicated, or long-term; but he really wanted to, this time. So he mustered his courage, and his hope, and turned down the corridor that would lead him to Leia’s office.

\---

That was, really, where the grand romantic gesture plan had fallen by the wayside. Pushing the door open without knocking had only alarmed the aides who’d been working in the outer office; one of them had even pulled out a fucking  _ blaster, _ which he tried not to take any more personally than any other time someone had drawn down on him just for walking into the room. (Which was, admittedly, many times.) Somehow, it hadn’t occurred to Han that there might be other people here, taking up Leia’s space and her time.   
  
“Now, hold on a second,” he began, holding his hands out in a placating fashion to the hard-eyed girl who held the blaster. “The senator’s expecting me. I think.”   
  
It wasn’t Han, but the middle-aged woman on the other side of the room, who disarmed the tension with her loud snort. “That’s the senator's ... friend.”   
  
(He did  _ not _ like the way she said the word friend. At all.)

Still, it did the trick. The two women exchanged knowing looks, and the younger one replaced the blaster in some kind of holster - which told him heaps about her background and her level of conviction that the fighting was behind them. After that, the others returned to whatever work it was that occupied the time and attention of political aides. Han stayed where he was, hands outstretched, gaze flickering back and forth between the two women who were clearly in some kind of authority here.   
  
“Is the senator expecting me?” He gestured to the closed door at the back of the office space, indicating Leia by extension. “Is this a bad time?”   
  
The younger woman shrugged, but Han wasn’t a  _ total _ idiot, and the look on her face told him more than he actually wanted. It wasn’t a great time, and they were expecting the rumored fireworks that  _ allegedly _ went off whenever he and Leia were in the same room. Swell. That was just perfect. He glanced hopefully at the older woman, but she simply gestured to the shut door, and continued scrolling through the large data pad housed on her desk. So that wasn’t any help.   
  
Finally, Han sighed in exasperation, and strode across the room to the old-fashioned door (because Chandrila was  _ organic _ and didn’t like to keep the same standards of living as the rest of the galaxy he supposed,) and turned the knob. He could hear Leia’s voice now, suspected he was about to interrupt some kind of call, but committed to his course of action and stepped inside. Sure enough, as Han closed the door behind him, he could see Leia having a serious conversation with someone on a screen she held in her hand. Momentarily she looked up and glanced at Han, nodding to a chair just beside the door.   
  
Even better - he felt like he was visiting an actual senator for  _ actual _ business.

The call ended shortly thereafter, but it had only ruined whatever mood had been left after meeting with her aides. Leia, for her part, looked both apologetic and detached; he knew her work facade when he saw it.   
  
“I’m sorry about that, Han.” She set the data pad aside, and leaned forward across her desk. “Did you need something?”   
  
“Come with me for a walk.” The words blurted out before Han could stop them, and he grimaced. Once upon a time he’d been  _ such _ a smooth-talker, and he wasn’t sure where the fuck he’d left that ability. He could see Leia’s mouth open, could see the refusal in her eyes, and held up his hand to stop her. “Just a few minutes of your time, Princess. I know you haven’t taken a break yet today, and I just wanted to see you for a few minutes. That’s all.”

For a minute, Han was afraid she was going to turn him down. Leia probably  _ was _ very busy; as one of the most recognizable figures of both the old senate and the rebel alliance, she was a symbol of stability in what was otherwise a flimsy as hell new government. Mon Mothma had been leaning on her so much lately, and he knew Leia thrived in that kind of environment; but he also noticed the way her eyes had dark circles in the morning before she covered them with make-up, and knew she fell asleep reading data files and reports.   
  
“You’re right,” Leia said finally, her expression softening into that  _ look _ that she tended to reserve for him. She stood, the silky smoothness of her white gown falling into place with more wrinkles than Leia Organa would normally be caught dead in. “We should go for a walk.”   
  
Han stood, and offered her his hand.   


\---

If there was any one compliment Han Solo was willing to pay Chandrila, it was this: they had some really fucking pretty gardens. Walking hand-in-hand with Leia through the one just outside her office felt peaceful, and relaxing. He didn’t usually  _ like _ that sensation, but he was just grateful to have a few quiet moments with the woman he loved that he’d take it. 

The gardens sprawled around them, with what looked like hand-cut stone pathways (since Chandrila didn’t like droid-made architecture,) that wound through hedgerows teeming with flowers. Somewhere, Han could hear the babbling of a fountain - an expression that he would never speak with his out-loud voice if his life depended on it. From time to time, Leia bumped her shoulder into his, but they otherwise seemed content to let the silence stretch out between them. (Which only went so far, of course, Han was already trying to consider if the hedge row offered enough screen to drag Leia into them.)   
  
It was not, however, his own licentiousness that broke their silence. A red-faced aide rushed up to the pair of them, huffing and puffing as though he’d run the entire way to find them.   
  
“Senator Organa, I have an important document for you to review, and Senator-” Han stopped paying attention to the man after that, his attention shifting to Leia. He could tell she was already being pulled back into her world of politics and conferences and debates and reports; and it was that place she went where he couldn’t follow. Frustrated, Han released her hand, and waited to see if she’d notice.   
  
“Oh, of course,” Leia said, instead of noticing. She took the datapad and skimmed the contents. “I’ll be available this afternoon, once I’ve had a chance to read this.”   
  
The man nodded, took the data pad back, and disappeared back into the hedges in the direction he’d come from. Han braced for what Leia was about to say, already rolling his eyes.    
  
“Han, I’m sorry, I-”   
  
“I know, I know.” He dragged his hand through his hair, letting out a bark of laughter that probably would have done his Wookie companion proud. “What’s a man gotta do to get five minutes with his  _ wife _ around here.”   
  
The word froze them both; although they’d eloped shortly after the Battle of Endor, neither of them had really spoken of it since. Han had been busy mopping up bits and pieces of the Empire, and Leia had already begun to assume her role as a senator. He shrugged, sighed, and fished the small box out of his pocket.   
  
“Anyway, I just wanted to give you this, before you have to go off-planet again.” He held the box out, waiting for Leia to take it. She did, flipping the lid open to reveal a pretty bracelet. It probably wasn’t anything like what she’d had on Alderaan, or like what she was piecing together now. Simple hammered silver, with an equally simple engraving on the inside. “It’s not much, but. It made me think of you, I guess.”   
  
Leia stared at the bracelet for a long moment, and then glanced back up at him; she looked soft, now, and warm. This was the way she looked at him when they were alone, when he did something especially nice or generous; then his wife went up on her tiptoes to press a gentle kiss against his lips.   
  
“I miss you too, Han.”   
  
He blinked at her, not realizing that was the word for the way he’d been feeling lately.  _ He missed Leia _ . Missed having her bossing him around on his own ship, missed the way she pressed comfortably against him as they slept, and especially missed the way she made him feel: wanted.   
  
“We can make this work,” Leia went on, fingers pulling the bracelet from the jeweler’s box so she could slide it over her hand. “I know it’s not great right now, but ...give me just a little more patience? I’ll come home early tonight, we can have dinner.”   
  
Still a bit dumbfounded by the revelation that his recent frustration boiled down to missing his wife, Han wrapped his hands around the box and Leia’s hand. “I’d like that.”   
  
“Good.” Leia glanced down at the bracelet, which he’d had engraved with the coordinates where Alderaan had once been. “I love you, dumbass.”   
  
Han grinned, chuckling as he pressed a kiss against the top of Leia’s head. “I know.”   



End file.
